Like A Warrior
by StarKatt427
Summary: For you, fighting isn't about glory or honor: it's about protecting the ones you love, the ones you would sacrifice yourself for. And more than anything, it's about making sure your brother lives to see another tomorrow, even if you don't. - Brotherhood/manga based.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the world of FullMetal Alchemist: Hiromu Arakawa is the creator. **

**A/N: Oh. Hi there. Well, I'm back! Yeah...the whole writing break didn't work out quite as well as I would have liked, so I decided to go on ahead and upload one of the stories I worked on during my time off. And what better time to return than a holiday? So to all of you in the United States, Happy Thanksgiving! **

**This is a bit different than my other FullMetal Alchemist stories, but I like this style, so I might continue working with it later on. The idea for this came from a song that I heard back this summer, and the words and meaning really connected with me (it's _Live Like A Warrior_ by Matisyahu, which is where I also got this story's title from). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and leave a review; I cherish knowing what you guys think :3**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

_Thump._

The sound is faint, overpowered by a ringing, and you begin slipping away from it.

_Thump-thump._

Stronger now, it calls to you, pulls you back. It takes you several dizzy moments to remember what the thud of your heartbeat sounds like. Stronger than this is the ringing in your ears, blocking out the rest of the world, so loud that it drowns out the din around you and causes you to become aware of your own body. Your chest is tight, lungs strangely empty, the base and back of your skull throbbing. There's pain, but for now, it's distant, and you aren't sure if you want to sink back into the haze or continue fighting for awareness. Finally, you force yourself to suck in a breath, feeding your starved lungs, then nearly choke as you inhale clouds of acrid dirt and burning rubble, the reek clogging your nose and throat. You force your eyes to open, struggling against the darkness that overlays your vision, the dizziness that overtakes you and makes everything spin. As the blackness begins to recede from your vision, faint glimmers of dim light break through, brown and gray and even some blue and green. You force yourself back into consciousness, convince yourself you're strong enough to face the pain, because you are needed; you can't stop now, can't let something like a stupid concussion break you. You're stronger than that.

But when the first wave of pain ripples over you, for just a moment, you aren't so sure you are. It tears through you like electricity or fire, shooting up every part of your battle weary body. Blood pounds in your ears as you strain to get your eyes open wide, biting down on the throbbing that shoots out from your head and chest and arm.

Arm. You suddenly remember that, once again, you only have one arm, but you can still feel the sharp zapping pain that came along with the destruction of your automail. Your other arm is hurting now, and from the corner of your eye, you see more blood, flowing from yet another injury, sapping your strength. Your mouth taste coppery and your ears are still ringing, but it doesn't matter right now. You have to focus, have to get up.

And then you hear a voice, and suddenly, you're hearing the sounds around you perfectly: crumbling stone, moans, and that damned voice. It's grating and guttural and inhuman, and when the spinning finally settles, you are able to see.

The world has been turned upside down.

Buildings stand broken around you, crumbling apart, and smog thickens the air, beginning to settle now. You see the outlines of bodies, but you can't tell who they are or if they're even alive. And in the middle of the aftermath is Father, only it's not; it's something sicker, and it barely even resembles a human anymore. You see the creature—the monster—as his gaze falls on you, eyes maddened by power and hunger, and then he's stumbling ever closer, mumbling under his breath words you can't decipher.

But when you catch the word _energy_, everything falls into place: Philosopher Stones are made from human lives, and you are a human. He's coming for you.

Someone is calling out to you. You hear your name carried on the still air in a voice you would recognize among thousands, a voice so distinct and one you know better than your own, telling you to get away.

Alphonse.

You look at the damage done to your left arm, taking in the twisted rebar that's driven through muscles and flesh and has pinned you to a broken piece of concrete. And you look back at the monstrosity steadily approaching, and you have to move. You pull yourself forward, trying in vain to dislodge the metal that's penetrated your arm, and a fresh wave of pain shoot through your shoulder and chest at the action, blood spurting out dark, vivid red. Father's getting closer, more insistent, and you feel panic trying to crawl out of your belly and into your chest, but you have to remain calm.

Al's screaming now, voice tortured and terrified, begging, pleading, both for you to run and for Father to not touch you. He's scared; of course he is. So are you.

Sweat pours down your face as you try again to break free, but the pain's too great, and you come so close to blacking out, your remaining strength nearly gone. Glaring at Father as he approaches and frantically trying to think of a way out of this hell, panting, you try to fight, to try get away from him.

But

you

aren't

moving.

Hohenheim's voice joins your brother's, and though you wish it didn't, it hurts, hearing him so desperate. You keep trying, refusing to give in yet, determined to make it through this so you can see him again, even if it's just to slug him.

Father is getting closer, staring at you with those dilated pupils, voice louder as he screams for energy. You can't hear Alphonse anymore, which you're grateful for; it's too painful to hear him so ravaged.

You have to get away, now. That bastard's screams are grating into your skull, hands outreaching, grasping for you; if he touches you, you're gone. Hopelessly, you struggle against the rebar, snapping your teeth shut against the pain, never taking your eyes off of him. The panic's threatening to bubble out of you along with the blood, and though you continue to fight for freedom, something dark inside you begins to accept the reality that this is it: you are going to die here, without taking that creature with you. Without seeing Winry again, without poking fun at Granny, without telling that jerk of a father that you don't really hate him. Without getting Alphonse back to normal.

This is what you regret most as you stare him down. You will never see your little brother in his real body.

"_Energy!"_

Warm wind slaps your face, the sound of metal imbedding in concrete just inches away from your head making every muscle in your body freeze. Without moving, you look to your right to see five kunai knives, the nearest one just inches from your head, aligned in the shape of a star.

_That figure…_

May.

You look past Father to see the Xingese girl several yards away, her hand still outstretched, fingers splayed from throwing her daggers. Blood runs down the side of her face, but she doesn't look beaten: she looks determined, her dark eyes filled with fire, but you notice her mouth and how it wobbles.

And then you see him, and your heart stops.

He's on the ground beside her, the lower half of his armor completely gone, and you curse yourself for not noticing the shape he was in before now. Alphonse has seen battle many a time since you first put him in that body, and you've seen half of him destroyed before by Scar, but this…

Slowly, he raises his arms straight into the air, actions calm, and confusion fills you. "What are you doing?"

His palms draw closer together, steady even now, and a sudden fear grabs hold of you, one you can't entirely explain, leaden dread sprouting in your heart. You look briefly at May, see her eyes fill with tears.

_Alphonse…_

It hits you then, what he's about to do, and you want to scream, to run over there and knock your fist against his head, to just grab hold of him and keep his palms from making contact, anything to stop him from doing this. But when you try to yell at him, your voice doesn't work right, instead coming out unsteady and weak. "No…don't…" _Don't you dare!_

Why can't you speak loud enough? Why can't you find the strength to free yourself? Why can you never take care of him?

He hears you; you know he does. And yet he doesn't stop.

"Please…Al…"

For just a moment, just one heartbeat, he goes utterly still, and everything is silent. And in that moment, you see him as you have for as long as you can remember, your rival and partner in crime and your voice of reason and your best friend and your brother: your something to protect.

You can't lose him.

When Alphonse speaks, his words are soft and filled with resolve, a little sorrow and a lot of love infused in them. "Keep moving…Brother."

His palms touch, a resonating clap echoing around you, and your voice finally returns and you scream, raw and half crazed with fear. "AL, NO!"

You watch as he rests his hands over what remains of his chest, and a blue glow emits from the seal you drew four years ago with your own blood, and you can do nothing but watch as that familiar white-red glow leaves the armor's eyes: his soul departing this world.

Everything inside you stops. You stare at the empty armor in disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that your brother is gone, because he can't be. You two have been through too much for it to end like this. He can't be gone…you can't lose him.

Light on your right, a sudden weight that's foreign but oddly familiar, new bones and muscle being born. You feel yourself shaking as you look over, and you exhale a gasp, still able to see the light surrounding your right arm; an arm that you lost on that dark night when you were still a child, the one you gave to recover Al's soul. The skin is pale, the muscles atrophied, fingernails long and jagged, but it's your right arm.

Only, it's not. Your right arm just sacrificed himself to save you. You're right arm just left you alone.

The grief isn't coming just yet; it will, and soon, but in this moment, there is only the throbbing anger at your brother for ever thinking he could leave you like that again, pull a stunt so stupid and make you so terrified and heartbroken. You cling to that anger, because without it, you're going to end up breaking down.

_Al..._

**You're**

_Alphonse._

**brother**

_Alphonse!_

**is**

_Alphonse…_

**gone.**

"Al, you DUMBASS!"

The next several minutes are a blur of blood and rage and aching, burning grief. You take hold of the reinforcing bar that pins your arm, newly restored hand tingling, and without thinking rip the metal from your limb, yelling out as it tears from your muscles and sends a fresh spray of blood outward. And then your hands make contact, the sound resounding all around you, and you slap your palms to the ground, sending forth the most vicious display of attacks you have ever unleashed, all directed at that monster.

You hear Father's cries and screams, hear the voices around you encouraging you forward, adding to your fire and making you nearly indestructible. Flesh on flesh as your fists makes contact with his face, bone crushing bone, but it's not enough; you want him to hurt, to suffer, and you relish in his pain so that, at least for a little while, you don't feel your own quite so much.

It's there, though. It doesn't leave you, not with the hits you inflict upon him and the blood coating your knuckles. Your heart's trying to tear down the middle, baring your soul wide, and somewhere in your inner eye, you see a flash of blonde hair, hear a soft voice speak the only encouragement you'll ever need.

_Keep moving._

You thought your own physical pain was excruciating, that you might not be strong enough to bear it. But as your brother's soul dissipated out of this world, you realized that nothing had ever been more agonizing. Right now, you can't afford to think about him, even though that's all you want to do, all your heart is screaming at you to do: you can't think about the little brother you would willingly die for and literally die without. For now, you can't think about Alphonse. For now, there is only this: you and Father in a death match, blood and sweat and flesh and cries, and you will not lose.

You will keep moving, you will keep living, you will keep fighting, because you will not let this be the end. You _will _see Alphonse again.

You will not lose him.


End file.
